One Goat
by Valerie E. Mackin
Summary: Murphy has a joke, but Connor's just not in a humorous mood. M for language only, fits in the same universe as my other Boondock Saints stories, you don't have to read the others for this to make sense.


Murphy's horse snorted as the rain slackened to a light drizzle. His smirk turned to a chuckle before he managed to stifle it, his eyes on the herd. Connor glanced at his brother, his eyes squinted against the mist as he pulled out cigarette and attempted to light it despite the weather.

"'Tis the fourth time ye've tried t'light it…Ain't gonna work this time, neither."

Connor sighed and tossed the ruined cigarette to the ground. "What's got ye in such fine spirits on such a mis'rable day? Ye've been gigglin' like a fuckin' school girl all mornin', and a fella'd like to be let in on th'joke."

"Meh…ye wouldn't t'ink it's funny, anyway; ye'd've had to be dere to hear it done t'right way." But Murphy continued smirking, and Connor's eyes narrowed a little more in irritation.

"Well, now yer just bein' downright rude." Connor reached over and swiped at his brother, but Murphy dodged at the last second. Connor cursed as he overbalanced and had to grab at the saddle horn to keep from falling to the ground. He glared at his brother as he straightened and urged his horse forward, moving to the far side of the herd and as far from Murphy as he could get without outright leaving. "Fine! Keep yer stupid fuckin' joke to yer shtupid fuckin' self! Didn't care t'hear it anyways."

"Go on an' pout, then!" Murphy called. "You'll be back eventually!" He chuckled to himself again. Connor was so predictable: Murphy had no intention of telling him the joke anytime soon, not after the school girl comment, and he knew his brother couldn't stand to not be let in on a joke. Sometimes he was almost as bad as Rocco had been. Murphy's smile faded for a few moments as he thought of their old friend, but then he smirked again.

Roc would've loved the joke.

….

A couple of hours later, Connor called from across the herd, "At least tell me what the damned thing's about!"

Murph laughed and called back, "Ye ever hear of a fella named McGregor?"

Connor looked puzzled a moment, thinking seriously. "Ye mean t'fella what ran th' general store in town when we was kids?"

Murphy closed his eyes, shaking his head at his brother. "No, ye damn fool. Not a real fella; 'tis how the damn joke starts!"

"Well, I didn't know, did I? Been tryin' t'get ye to tell me th' fuckin' thing all day, Murph!"

"Keep yer fuckin' panties on, I'm tellin' ye, ain't I?"

Connor glared at his brother a moment, about to retort, but he knew if he did, he'd never hear the damn joke. After all this, it had better be fucking worth it. Seriously.

Murphy grinned and continued. "So the joke goes somethin' like dis: Every day I'd go to th' same pub, and each day I'd see t'same old man just sittin' at a stool all by his lonesome. I decided one day t'find out why he was always alone, so I walked up to him and asked, 'Why do ye always sit on yer stool and do nothin' an' talk to nobody?'"

Connor listened silently, a wary expression on his face as Murphy continued.

"So he says to me, "Well, lad, me name is McGregor. Ya see dis bar? I helped build dis bar. But do they call me McGregor th' carpenter? Nah. Built me car from scratch, replaced th'engine and all its parts, I did, but do they remember me as McGregor th' mechanic? Nah. I even built me own home. Hewed it out of th' wilderness with me own bare hands, but do they remember McGregor th' home builder? Not a bit!"

Connor interrupted suddenly, "Murph, is this daft joke goin' anywhere, or are ye just gonna be ramblin' till we drive th' sheep home?" Murphy raised a silent eyebrow at his brother and half-smiled.

"Knew ye couldn't keep yer damn comments t'yerself. Looks like ye don' need t'hear t'rest. Maybe Da knows the end of th' joke, an' he can tell ye when we get home." Murphy dismounted from his horse and led it over to an outcropping of rock, settling down with his lunch and ignoring Connor completely for the rest of the afternoon. He could hear occasional muttered and grumbled comments from his brother and laughed a little to himself every time.

….

Connor scratched at his beard, annoyance clear in every line on his face. He knew the joke couldn't be that great, but it was driving him crazy that Murph couldn't just tell him the damn ending. He supposed he could ask Da, but why give Murph the satisfaction?

Finally, he burst out, "Fuck you, Murph! Just tell me the end of yer stupid fuckin' joke!"

With a completely straight face, Murphy replied, "If ye behave yerself and play nice, we'll finish story time after supper."

Connor chucked his ruined pack of cigarettes at Murphy, hitting him squarely between the eyes.

"Motherfucker!" Murphy growled, "Get off yer fuckin' horse and do that again!" He dismounted from his own horse, launching himself toward his brother.

….

A few hours and several bruises later, the brothers were dried off and clearing the table after supper while Da finished what was left of his own meal. Connor was eyeing Murph speculatively, wondering if he should say something to his brother or to Da, or whether he should just say fuck it and go down to the village pub for the evening.

He sighed. "Alright, Murph…tell me yer _hilarious_ story now. I'll behave."

The corner of Murphy's mouth twitched, but he kept a straight face. "What with all th'interruptions earlier, I fear I've lost me place in th'story. I t'ink I might have t'start all over."

Connor closed his eyes and counted to ten as he ground his teeth. What he really wanted to do was tell Murhp to shut it, but he knew better at this point. Da sat in his chair and watched the exchange between his boys with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, but said nothing.

"Alright…Murph. Go ahead and start yer story over."

"Well, just remember, it's a bit of a long one, so ye might want to get yerself and the storyteller a drink first. I find th' story comes out easier if I've got a pint er so to go wit' it."

Finally, finally, the brothers were seated with their Da in front of the fire and Murphy began again. He had just finished saying, "Built me car from scratch, replaced the engine and all its parts, I did, but do they remember me as McGregor th' mechanic? Nah," when he paused and looked at their Da, who was shaking with silent laughter. Da shook his head and made a shooing motion with his hand, indicating Murphy should continue. Da set his drink down as Connor took a long swig of his own, and Murphy continued, "I even built me own home. Hewed it out of the wilderness with me own bare hands, but do they remember McGregor th' home builder? Not a bit!"

"But ye fuck one goat…"

"And yer forever known as McGregor th' Goat Fucker!" Da roared suddenly, stealing the last line from Murphy. Connor choked on his drink at the sudden outburst, spraying his beer all over a startled Murphy. They stared wide-eyed at Da, who was roaring with uncharacteristic laughter. The brothers glanced at each other, Connor trying to cough out what he'd breathed down and Murphy wiping the front of his sweater off. After a moment, Murphy gave up his futile effort and Connor caught his breath while Da's laughter died down to highly amused chuckles.

Connor sighed and began to wipe the foam from his beard. "Yer jokes are fuckin' stupid, Murph. Don't give up yer day job."

_Author's note_: When I was about fifteen, a counselor told me this joke at camp. It was the first time an "adult" had told me something with *gasp* profanity, and it's stuck with me ever since. I know there are several variations of this joke, I just went with the one that best fits the story. And I love the thought of Billy Connolly actually doing this. Makes me smile every time. This story fits into the same universe as my other Boondock Saints things, although, obviously, it doesn't have all the same characters.


End file.
